


finally, the sun

by LittleMusing



Series: satellite [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Male My Unit | Byleth, Post-Canon, Spoilers, aka i think too much about claude and sometimes this game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-20 13:22:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20676089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMusing/pseuds/LittleMusing
Summary: “I don’t know if I like being a believer.” | An idea that ran off on its own and leaving me, the helpless writer, hanging onto the handlebars.





	finally, the sun

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, here comes the day where I don’t have to say “I thought this was too short so I tacked it onto another fic”! It makes like 75% of sense in my estimation, but I’m feeding myself and I’m happy with the result. There’s unfortunately not much Claude, it’s more like my musings about what happens after the war. Has spoilers in endnotes for Eagles route. Please enjoy.

Byleth's days fall into routine. Wake up, talk to Claude, get thrown into a million other tasks regarding governing, talk to Claude, and go to bed. He still enjoys making wry jokes every now and again about Claude just tossing him the archbishop's position. Luckily for him, Claude, Lorenz, Marianne, Lysithea, even Hilda, all did give him drills, and he had to rely on them extensively until he got used to it. Claude would always give a somewhat guilty chuckle, and pepper him with kisses. For that, it was kind of worth it.

The name of Fodlan's Throat remains, but the Gonerils' fort is essentially a bustling market, with Fodlani and Almyran goods driving hard bargains for visitors. Hilda made exceptional work of it, and he couldn't be prouder. He hears one of her accessories will be put up for auction in the coming days, to celebrate the anniversary of the Throat's opening. He sifts through the letters some and finds the invitation to the event. He wouldn't miss it for the world.

Seteth drops by to wrest work away from Byleth. The man has been doing the other half of the work, as well as training up successors. Byleth wants to protest, but the man brooks no argument, so the archbishop is unceremoniously chased out and barred from performing his own duties. Both of them work too much, he has to repay this favour at some point.

The archbishop's room is his now, and it still feels strange to think so. Rhea, Seiros? fell into a deep slumber much like Flayn, and considering she took the brunt of that attack from years ago, he's not sure if she would ever return. If he concentrates, he thinks he might feel his own heart, and not Sothis', beating. It rather terrifies him that, after all this time, he might lose even the goddess' presence. He hasn't known much else.

He paces the room a little, feeling lost. He sighs and goes to the portrait Ignatz painted for Byleth and Claude's anniversary, running a hand over Claude's visage. Ignatz had tastefully added lines for Byleth, and removed some from Claude. Their rings are subtle, yet quite prominent, emerald stone and silver metal. He takes down the painting and gets the dye from the space behind it. He had never really used it before, so he hopes he still remembers how to apply it. It was a secret gift Claude and Ignatz had conspired to give him that he hadn’t thought of until now.

Carefully, he applies the dye to his hair. In the mirror, he sees the green turn to a long forgotten shade of blue, and he almost retches. His fingernails dig into his palm as he works to swallow the feeling, as though he were erasing a part of himself he had long accepted. With shuddering breaths, he completes the process, and Byleth barely recognizes the reflection. The wide green eyes inform him that yes, this is the present.

The blue washes so easily off his hands.

He makes his way to Fodlan’s Throat dressed simply, the blue-sheathed dagger and his eyes the only distinctive features he brings along. The invitation he tucks into his clothes, should he require it. He doesn’t feel like explaining why the archbishop is going incognito. A simple steel sword feels so much lighter than the Sword of the Creator. He lets his thoughts drift to how the sword doesn’t glow red anymore, and he falls asleep to the steady gallops of the carriage horses.

He thinks he talks to Claude in his dreams, but his back is facing him. Byleth wakes up, feeling the remnants of tears on his face, but he doesn’t remember why he’s crying. Maybe it’s the first time in a while he hasn’t started the day by paying Claude a visit. He grips his ring until it leaves an indent in his palm, replacing the fingernail marks. Seteth would have to leave the flowers out for Claude while he’s away. 

If Byleth were really to lose Sothis’ heart, then he probably wouldn’t get to see Flayn again before she woke. No one else alive even knew she existed anymore, and his heart aches to think that if it weren’t for Seteth nad himself, she would be completely forgotten to time. Byleth feels unsure if he would want to become mortal, now but…

“A fate is a fate,” he whispers to himself.

He would try to fight it, but he too has his own wishes. He silently sends an apology to Flayn, as his heart flip flops between two worlds.

Byleth finds an inn near the fort on arrival, his heavy heart lightened by the sight of Fodlani and Almyran alike milling around, talking like old friends. By now, it’s common, but it’ll always be something he treasures, remembering how hard Claude worked for it. He listens in to the conversation, hearing them discuss about the accessory up for auction. It seems it’s been kept hidden, and the merchants and onlookers alike are placing bets. Byleth realizes he hasn’t been told which one it is either. He figures it would likely be one of the pieces she’s given to Marianne. 

He smiles to himself, thinking of how close the girls became after the war, before their eventual marriage. He should drop by Hilda’s school too while he’s in the area. The current principal sent him a small brooch a couple years back; a simple moon with deer antlers in gold, as Claude’s birthday gift. Byleth has a matching one, in black. They have their place behind the portrait. 

The place is festive, the air filled with merchants hawking their wares and the buzz of excitement as people trade dramatized stories of history and fiction. Byleth almost wants to cut in at points to tell the truth, but if he’s being honest with himself, they’d likely not believe him. They’re having good fun anyway. He pays rapt attention to those featuring Claude, wanting to laugh at the grand tales of his schemes. The minute details of Claude’s expressions are only Byleth’s to know.

He’s really glad to have used the dye. It makes him just another one of the people, and not the ever youthful ‘Hero of Fodlan’. The Almyrans scoff at the parts where they say he received divine favour but are otherwise equally entranced by the storyteller before them. His large build and gold hair reminds Byleth of Raphael, and he wonders if he is indeed a descendant. He’d lost track of the family trees about 200 years in. Byleth peels himself away from the crowd, and loses himself in the heady atmosphere of the market. He buys some random trinkets here and there, and retires to bed, exhausted, but content.

Byleth joins the curious onlookers the next day, seeing the stage for the auction being set up. The one doing the ordering around has a shock of pink hair, and he hides a smile. Whoever they are, they certainly seem more proactive. Perhaps it’s from Holst. Three chests, hidden under gold cloth, are placed on the podiums. A banner is unfurled, and Byleth can recognize Ignatz’s art style. They started with the Deer at the monastery, then him joining the group. He's surprised to see Lysithea included, after what she had done to let her family name fall into obscurity. There's the battle for Garegg Mach, the first time, and he winces at seeing Edelgard. His fall is depicted here, too, then the meeting that still makes his chest clench. He feels grateful that Edelgard was not given such a demonic visage, the dramatic lines saved for Nemesis instead. He muses about how they went all out, it being the five hundred and fifty-fifth year of unification, just about. Looking closer, there's their other compatriots. History is written by the victor, with all the focus on the Deer, but at least the books will remember them. It’s almost funny he isn’t at Derdriu or even the monastery for the big gala, but this is equally important. 

He almost dares hope the impossible could happen today.

“Welcome, one and all!” the booming storyteller takes his spot on the stage. “I’m Rollo, and we are gathered here today for the small event of the five hundred and fifty-fifth opening of Fodlan’s Throat! Or Fodlan’s unification? Well, same thing right?” he winks to the audience’s playful jeering.

“We’ll be auctioning off three of Hilda Valentine Goneril’s greatest pieces! I know, I know, you only heard of one. Can't have a grand auction with just one piece, can you? Proceeds will be going partially towards both former Faerghus and Adrestia, since restoration works are still going slow despite all this time.” He makes a face. “Those who slither in the dark have had their claws in everything, good thing they’re gone!”

The audience boos at the mention of those ancient enemies. Byleth’s heart skips a beat thinking about how Claude had come charging in with reckless abandon, practically ramming his wyvern into a demonic beast before Failnaught’s arrows rained down from the sky. He brings his hand to his chest, feeling the ring hanging off his neck.

Rollo unveils the first chest with a flourish. It’s a purple painted box, with gold gilding and rose emblazoned onto it. Ah, Lorenz. For all his theatrics, he was one of the most, if not  _ the _ most stalwart supporters of Claude's by the end. The accessory within keeps the rose motif, the red surrounded with delicate silver vines and leaves. A tale of Lorenz's growth is spun, and Byleth laughs lightly, remembering how he tried to pursue the academy girls before indeed, becoming a very fine man. He tunes out the actual bidding, lost in reminiscence. 

Next is a gift to Marianne, encased in a delicate blue box without fancy decorations. The accessory within is a horseshoe ring, with wings carved into the metal. They had had many horses and occasional pegasi as he recalls, a few naturally being Dorte's descendants. This one is a love story, the delicate retelling of sappiness making Byleth blush on Marianne's behalf. 

The last box is even plainer, if it were possible, merely an almost shabby looking wooden box. "In Hilda's words, she never gave this gift because she thought it was too much. However! It is a symbol of power! I've already talked a lot about them, so without further ado-!" 

The item takes Byleth's breath away. A brooch, with Failnaught's curve, and the Sword of the Creator's hilt. There’s a few of the relic weapon’s spokes to make it look recognizable, and the middle is the Crest of Flame. His heart hurts, or is it Sothis’? He can’t bear to look, and he escapes. He keeps his head down, bumping into someone. He apologizes quickly, and sprints back to his room. In a haze, he remembers the invite saying this event would be important for him, but they'd understand if he was too busy to come. An obtuse way to inform him of that brooch, for sure. 

He really misses Claude. Time had dulled the pain somewhat, but seeing their weapons put together again reminded him of their final showdown with Nemesis. Recognizing the trust and love that he must have held in for so long put out there once again, it was overwhelming. He refuses to cry. This was a joyous occasion to the people, after all. His pain is his alone to bear now, being as stubborn as he is. Seteth had offered to listen before, but he’s not sure how he could voice it out. Byleth does understand, though, that he should probably take him up on that. 

He can already hear Seteth telling him the pain never truly goes away. If nothing else, the company would be good. Seteth had seemed like a standoffish man at first, but after he’d said they were family… Byleth can’t in good conscience always push him, and Flayn, away. They’d all had their mortal friends, loved ones. 

The work keeps the worst of it away.

Time passes as Byleth slowly calms himself down. He lies down on the bed, and fishes out the ring from under his shirt, seeing his blue hair dyed green in the stone. Jeralt’s blessing is yet another one he’s left behind the portrait. Too many memories he’s keeping away in a safe place, to return whenever he wants to remember. He plants a kiss on the stone, and tucks the ring away once more. 

He peeks out of the window, seeing the world bathed in orange light. How long was he here? Byleth can feel his stomach growling. He throws on a thicker cloak, secures his sword, and goes to get a simple meal. He feels like wandering the mountain pass just for a few hours, now that he doesn’t need to constantly only ever think of its defenses. He quickly realizes someone is following him. Byleth carefully keeps a hand over his dagger, the other on the sword.

There’s something clumsy,  _ and _ familiar, about those movements. The blood is roaring in Byleth’s ears and he dares not look back.

He stops several bridges over. “There’s no place to hide, why have you been following me?” he barks, grip tight over the sword.

“I wonder?”

His throat goes dry when he does finally face the figure. His hair is down instead of slicked back, but he’s kept the side braid. Confident he won’t be run through with a sword, he steps closer, amusement and sadness flickering in those green eyes. 

“How…”

“How I managed to look the same? Yeah, beats me. I don’t have any nobility though. Took awhile to remember everything.” He shrugs. “I’m just me.”

His clothes are certainly more simple compared to the Garreg Mach uniform, or the yellow of the war. Just an ordinary shirt, black pants with a yellow sash wound around his waist, much like the time where he finally, finally gave the ring to him. Byleth still brandishes the sword. This can’t possibly be real, even as his hand trembles and his heart threatens to beat.

“Did I ever tell you about the moons in my life? You were one of them, with that hair of yours,” he says in a sing-song way. “Looks like you finally used the dye.”

Of course he did tell him. Claude, as his energy began to dwindle, would still spin tall tales of imagination and half-truths, for one more thing to remember him by.

“How long has it been, Byleth?” he whispers, already so close, caressing his cheek. 

“It’s been a while,” he answers, wryly, the tears threatening to spill.

“Hey, you got my sense of humour!” they touch foreheads. “You know, I think I’m starting to believe in the goddess now.”

“That’s how I know you’re not real,” Byleth laughs, shakily, breathing in a smell he’d almost forgotten off the sun-kissed skin. 

“Oh, don’t stab me now, let me savour this… hey, you okay?”

He thinks it’s just the feeling of Too Much making him dizzy. “Mm... “ he doesn’t respond immediately, dropping his head to the other man’s shoulder. “Is your name still 

He wakes in the inn, a weight on his hand. The room is spinning, and an unfamiliar sensation is within his chest. The man gripping his hand sits up with a start. “Look who finally decided to get up!” his voice is just a little too high. He peers closely, their noses almost touching.

“What -”

“Your eyes… they’re not green.”

He brings Byleth’s hand to his chest. There’s a thudding that wasn’t there before. He’s completely confused. 

"I'm not sure if I like being a believer, Byleth." His eyes turn serious and his brows furrow. "Your heart… is beating on its own." 

_ Does that mean Rhea's…?  _

"So much for dyeing that hair! And I kinda liked the green, what with my very poetic comparison of it to the moon before you collapsed very gracefully in my arms." 

Byleth laughs unbidden, startling his companion. "Wait, before I go into hysterics, what's your name?" he manages out of his presumably stress-induced mirth. 

"Still Claude, no Riegan, no Crest. I think, anyway. You should meet my parents!" he pauses. "Again! As far as I can tell, they're different. Um, Byleth, you're kinda scaring me with all that laughing." 

He can't stop, he's not sure why. It's like half a millennia of emotions suppressed by Sothis' heart blew a dam in him and he can't control himself anymore. He hiccups, and he finds it incredibly hilarious, and Claude, apparently reincarnated by the graces of some goddess, is rightfully concerned. 

"My love, I'm not going to let you laugh to death on me after I finally meet you again. Sorry about this," Claude proceeds to squish his cheeks together and gives him a quick peck on the lips. "You looked really silly but I'm overwhelmed with love for you, that's kinda scary," his tone is deadly serious, but the light dances in his eyes. 

"I don't know what came over me," Byleth finally manages, rubbing his throat. Claude hands over a glass of water which he downs gratefully. 

"Oh, I can tell," he smiles wryly.

"I'll have to tell Seteth, Flayn isn't awake yet, there's the problem of a successor, then there's… you." 

"I wanted to make a joke about having a lot of time but uh, this is new territory, huh." 

Claude stands, and holds out his hand. "C'mon, we've got a lot of work to do." 

Claude tells Byleth about his (both) Almyran parents, one of the many merchants now doing business at the Throat. He tells him about constant dreams, fragmented, constantly waking up exhausted and confused. He stops Byleth from apologizing. He paints a picture of a pretty ordinary life, without the hardship he could’ve lost himself to all those years ago, with the easy comfort of enjoying the fruits of his hard work they’d all laid down. He confesses he’s not great with a bow anymore, as memories do not equal proper training. He’s still trained some, winking and saying, “I’ve been waiting to sweep you off your feet.”

Their fingers are laced together as Claude chatters on. He’s been studying a lot as usual, the image of books scattered everywhere vivid in both the past and present in their minds. “I said I wanted to go out to see the world at 20, the merchant life isn’t so bad to want to leave so badly,” he muses. “You see lots of people, and they all seem pretty happy. I’m not dreamy enough to want to eradicate every bad thing. Everyone will have their moment of weakness, and sometimes, we lose them completely.”

Byleth watches his gaze go distant. Should the others, like Dimitri and Edelgard, be reborn into the world, he hopes they would never remember the past. The journey back to Garreg Mach lapses into comfortable silence. Byleth isn’t sure if he dreams of Sothis that night. The goddess has been primarily just a name to invoke, a comfort for those who seek the solace of a higher power in this age. It’s a little unsettling to see his own face in imagery, if he’s being honest.

He wonders now, if he would be able to see her to thank her, at long last. He smiles to himself, thinking of the berating that must be waiting for him. 

Seteth is floored when he sees Claude. The man locks himself in his room for the better part of the day, leaving Byleth to shoo Claude into the office and get started on work. His knowledge is rusty, but Byleth appreciates having another point of view who isn’t Seteth. They quickly work through the logistics of a successor, having not accounted for the loss of effective immortality. Seteth had never been particularly interested in being the actual head, but they decide to ask him anyway, while coming up with their plans.

Seteth, as expected, refused the position. With his unaging nature, putting him in a prominent position would make it difficult, and he never would be satisfied at how safe, or otherwise, Flayn’s position would be. He does become part of the cardinals, whose identities can remain secret, and he can continue to advise from the shadows. From there, he can safely pick out the archbishops. 

They later find the Sword of the Creator gone, with only splinters of it suggesting it had ever existed. The age of these relic weapons were truly over, then.

Byleth is free to live life anew, like Claude’s second chance. They don’t have to say it aloud now. Let them do their last task, and then they would go, trusting in the foundations they have left behind.

-

Byleth: Peace at Dawn

The archbishop stepped down from his position after a further 10 years. People spoke of a man looking uncannily like his one and only husband, the Riegan heir from centuries ago, but the man proved too elusive to confirm. The now former archbishop only responded to queries with a knowing smile, giving thanks to the goddess for what the people felt was the first, and last time, he had invoked the name of the goddess. The man would leave to retire to lands unknown, and some would say, was showered in blessings till the end of his days.

**Author's Note:**

> The part of Byleth dyeing his hair was inspired by this!! A bit less angst perhaps: https://twitter.com/happylinlin00/status/1172357898451726338?s=19
> 
> Killing Rhea in the Eagles route makes Sothis’ heart disappear. At first I thought if it could be because I killed off both Seteth and Flayn without realizing I could spare them (oops!) so I thought, you kinda killed off the remaining connections? Since it happens regardless, the idea just stewed in my head for a while. The SotC does stop glowing at the end of Verdant Wind, and it’s clearly very cracked, so I tried to reconcile that here.
> 
> In the end we know fuck all about how the cardinals work, but hey Seteth can chill out and nobody would be the wiser there’s only the one guy there. If you have any questions I can try to answer them to the best of my “how do I make canon work??” ability!
> 
> I’d like to think Flayn wakes before they finally leave, and they’ll have some more time to meet up before they pass on. I’m sure Seteth can share where they’ve been hiding all this time, so it’s a nice, happy ending :)
> 
> Thank you for reading! It’s gone on long enough, let Claude and Byleth be lovey dovey in private.


End file.
